One Thing

Chapter 2

Harry sat quietly eating his eggs and fried potatoes as his classmates chatted monotonously around him. He wasn't really listening, anyway. He was too busy thinking about how futile it would be to try to lose the election.

What do they know, anyway? He thought morosely. They don't even know me. He looked around at the people surrounding him: Dean, Seamus, Ginny, Neville, the Creevey brothers... With the exception of Ron and Hermione, none of them really knew anything about him.

And even his two best friends weren't that savvy about what was really going on with Harry. What does it say about our friendship if I can't even tell them my secrets? he wondered. I should be able to tell my best friends anything. Why is this so hard? Harry had been harbouring a secret for over a year now. A secret no one knew. A secret that Harry didn't really think was a big deal, but was worried about the reaction to it from his mates. If they're really my best friends, and they really love me, what difference will this make? The thing that bothered him was, he didn't know. He didn't know if it would make a difference. Being as logical and rational as she was, Harry was fairly sure Hermione would be able to except it, but Ron? Would Ron find it unfathomable, unacceptable even, that his best friend was gay? The thought that he might gave Harry a constant knot in his stomach.

As Harry sat, lost in his melancholy thoughts, an owl dropped a letter onto his plate. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, didn't say anything for fear of being barked at. So he opened it and read silently.

Mr. Potter,

You have been nominated for Hogwarts Halloween Ball King. If you should chose to accept this nomination, please remain in the Great Hall after breakfast for a meeting with the other members of the Court.

Best of wishes,

Professor McGonagall

Harry looked around at his classmates. He could see Dean, Lavender, and Parvati holding similar envelopes and talking excitedly about getting nominated. Of course they would all accept, I mean honestly. How could you not? Who would be that crazy? Harry folded his paper up gloomily. They were right, of course. People were simply not going to accept that he didn't want to run. Just like they didn't accept that he hadn't wanted to head the DA, or that he hadn't wanted to enter himself in the Triwizard Tournament, or that he hadn't been the heir of Slytherin, and so on. Harry turned to Hermione, who was sitting on his right, on the end of the bench, to ask her what he should do. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, he saw the shocked, pale expression on her face. He then noticed that her shaking hand was clutching something. A note. A Hogwarts Halloween Ball Nomination note. Harry was slightly surprised, but it was nothing to what Hermione appeared to be going through. He was just about to congratulate her, when she cut him off in a rush of words.

"Excuse me Harry I need to get to class good luck with your nomination if you want to accept it but I really can't wait for you to decide because I have to get to potions now okay I'll see you later bye," and with that she got up and fled the Hall. Harry didn't understand. Surely she wasn't upset about being nominated.

I mean, of course I understand her not wanting to run, but she could just say so. Why is she so shaken up about it? He decided he needed to find out. So he got up and followed her out, not even bothering to excuse himself to Ron. As he reached the entrance hall, he saw Hermione running into the girls' toilet. He followed, without knocking. Well, after all, he was worried about his friend. Luckily for him, there was no one in there, apart from Hermione. She was leaning on the sink, her head down. But it snapped up as she heard Harry enter. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"Herm, what's up?" Harry asked nervously. He wasn't very good at comforting people, especially when he hadn't a clue as to what was wrong.

"How could they, Harry?" Clearly the girl thought he did have a clue as to what was wrong.

"Er, how could who do what?"

"Oh, you didn't notice?" she asked quietly. She extracted the note she'd gotten at breakfast from her bag and handed it to Harry. He looked at it, but was still confused.

"Well, I was a bit surprised when I found out I was nominated too, but surely you can't be that offended. I mean, whoever it was probably didn't know you didn't want to run." Hermione looked at him for a moment like she thought he'd lost his marbles. Then she turned away, and said bitterly,

"Oh yes. I'm sure they had the best of intentions." Harry was totally lost.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" he asked slowly.

"Oh yes, that would be quite funny." Hermione imitated Lavender's sniffy aristocratic voice, apparently talking to no one in particular. "Let's nominate Granger. Wouldn't that be a laugh?"

Harry walked toward his dearest friend, who, at the moment, had her back to him, and put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She was crying. He was shocked. He had always thought of her as untouched by all the stupid drama that went on at school. For the second time that day, he reflected on how little he and the girl who he considered nearly a sister to him knew about each other.

"Is that really what you think, Hermione?" he asked gently, his heart breaking for the broken girl in front of him.

"Of course it is, Harry," she said desperately, as though she couldn't believe he didn't see it. "I'm the nerd. The loser. Why else would anyone nominate me?"

Harry thought he heard her mutter something about "Carrie" under her breath, but he wasn't sure. This caused a rather amusing image to rise in his mind, and he fought the urge to smile. He thought yet again about how little he and his best friend knew of each other, and made his decision.

"Come on, Herm, I have something to tell you. But not here."

He wiped a stray tear from her face, gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, and led her out of the toilet. He walked with her to her prefect's room, waited for her to give the password, and walked in with her. She had a four poster just like the ones in the dorms, a desk with a wooden chair, and a squishy armchair in front of a fireplace. Hermione sat in her desk chair, motioned for Harry to sit in the armchair, and said,

"What is it you have to tell me, Harry?"

"Well, you know that I don't want to be on the Court anymore than you do," he began, not exactly sure how to go about this. Oh sod it all, he thought.

"Hermione, I'm gay." He let the sentence hang there, watching for a reaction from the girl in front of him.

There wasn't one. She just looked at him for a moment, and then said, "Okay," and waited, as though for him to continue.

Harry was baffled. "Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" Hermione asked, nonplussed.

"Don't you have a response?" he asked, taken aback.

"Should I?" she asked plainly.

"Well, er, I suppose not, I just- I dunno, I thought you'd have an opinion or something, you know, one way or the other."

He stumbled over his words, still shocked that he'd actually told his best friend he was gay, and that, moreover, she didn't seem to care.

"Well it doesn't affect me, so I don't see that I should have an opinion. Of course, I understand it must be a big event in your life, but honestly Harry, if you thought it hadn't occurred to me, you're crazy."

Harry was dumbfounded. "Well, I didn't think- is it really that obvious?" he asked, a bit worried.

"No, but it does make a lot of sense. Of course, I couldn't be sure, but I figured you'd tell me when you were ready. Thank you for trusting me with this information, by the way."

"Sure," he said weakly. He was still a bit in shock. Then he felt a sudden wave of giddy relief come over him. His face broke out into a huge grin and he said, "Thanks for not caring."

"Of course, dear," she said, sounding remarkable like Mrs. Weasley. Then she got nervous again. "What are we going to do about the ball?"

"You know what, Hermione, I think we should go for it."

"What?" She looked at him, aghast.

"Why not? We could both just throw ourselves into it, make it look like a breeze, and have the pleasure of laughing at Lavender when she doesn't win."

Suddenly, now that Hermione knew he was gay, and didn't have an issues with it, going with a girl, as long as it was her, didn't seem that bad at all. There would be no pressure, no tense silence, and she could always teach him how to dance between now and then.

Hermione looked at him, as though considering it, and then she broke into a grin, as well. "All right," she said, "let's do it." And then she was off, talking about strategies, and dress robes, and buttons, and she probably would have talked herself blue in the face, had Harry not interrupted her.

"Er, Herm? I love the enthusiasm, I really do, but if we don't get down to the Great Hall, we're going to miss the meeting. Breakfast ended three minutes ago."

"Oh!" she jumped up, grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him out the door. He was happy to see her so lighthearted, so he ran along with her down to the hall. They skidded to a halt outside the big double doors, took a deep breath, straightened their robes in sync, and, with one quick nervous grin at Hermione, Harry opened the door for her. He followed her in, and they proceeded to walk calmly up to the Head Table, where the other members of the Court were seated, along with the Heads of house, and Professor Dumbledore. Harry took a quick inventory of who all was sitting at the table, and notice that in addition to the Gryffindors he'd noticed at breakfast, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Cho Chang, Blaise Zabini, and - Draco Malfoy? Well, not that he thought about it, it did make sense. At least, it supported his "Wouldn't they want someone more good looking?" theory. Wait, did I just consider Draco Malfoy good looking? He was dragged out of his musings when he and Hermione reached the Head Table.

"Sorry we're late," he said smoothly, enjoying the annoyed look on Malfoy's face. He probably thought I wasn't going to show up.

"It's fine, Potter, just please take your seats." Professor McGonagall motioned to two seats on the end, next to Draco Malfoy. Hermione walked around first, and took the seat on the very end, leaving Harry to sit next to darling Draco.

Oh, great, he grumbled internally. He made a mental note to tell Hermione about his awkward encounter with Malfoy later. As Professor Dumbledore began talking about committees and what not, Draco pulled out a piece of parchment and began scrawling something on it. Harry noticed his elegant handwriting. Then he noticed his name, and his heart stopped. No sooner than he'd wanted to take a closer look at what Malfoy was writing, then the paper slid in front of him, for him to read.

I thought you weren't going to show, Potter.

Harry looked at the note and began digging around in his pocket for a quill. He didn't have one. He turned to Hermione, who was taking notes, (of course,) but Draco brushed his arm with the quill he'd just used. For some reason, this motion unsettled Harry, and he found himself fighting a blush as he took the quill and scribbled, in quite less elegant script,

And disappoint the masses?

Draco smirked at this, and wrote back,

No, that wouldn't do. What would your fan club think?

This annoyed Harry immeasurably, because he definitely didn't want a fan club. So he wrote,

Well, frankly, I don't care. I don't want to be here, let me assure you.

Draco frowned at this.

Then why are you?

Like I have a choice?

Draco saw the truth in this, and suddenly felt a pang of (- could it be pity?) For the Boy Who Lived. He still couldn't believe that Harry Potter wouldn't want the glory of being named King, but it did seem to fit his strange episode of the night before. Again, he asked,

Why?

Why what?

Why don't you want to run?

Do I have to have a reason?

Yes.

Well I don't, so I suppose inquiring minds will just have to get over it.

Draco thought that this sentence looked a bit darker, as though Potter had been pressing harder on the quill as he wrote. This just confirmed his suspicions that there was more to his story than Potter was telling him. However, for some reason, he let it drop.

Dumbledore was now detailing the requirements for the court's etiquette at the ball. Harry tried to concentrate on this, rather than on Draco Malfoy.

"Dress robes will be worn, of course, and you will all be asked to find an escort or escortee." Harry fidgeted at this, and Hermione suddenly understood why he was so touchy about the whole thing. She reached over and placed a reassuring hand on his arm, and he gave her a grateful smile. She raised her hand, as though in class.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Are we allowed to attend the ball with another member of the court?" she asked clearly.

"Yes, that would be fine," Dumbledore replied and began to talk more about who would be doing what. Draco watched the exchange that went on between Potter and Granger, and found that for some inexplicable reason, it irked him.

"Well then," Dumbledore said, consulting a piece of parchment in front of him, "it looks like we have people down for everything but decorating. And we have left, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy." There may have been an element of amusement in the Headmaster's voice as he stated this. Harry realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he and Malfoy must have missed the signing up for committees whilst they'd been passing notes. He turned to Hermione with a panicked look on his face and mouthed, "Help me." However, Hermione just looked at him with a slightly mischievous grin on her face and shook her head slightly. Harry was shocked. "Is that all right, boys?" Dumbledore asked. They were both too stunned to say anything. Just as Draco opened his mouth to reply, Dumbledore said, "Good," as though the thought thrilled him. "I'm glad to see that the committees weren't segregated into houses, as I'd feared they might be." Dean and Blaise smiled, as did Hermione and Cho. Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Draco grabbed the paper from in front of him, and scribbled,

Oh get over it Potter. I don't bite. Not hard, anyway.

smirked, and passed it back. This made Harry's face redden considerably, and he hoped Malfoy didn't see.